PS 1277 
.U5 
1896 
Copy 1 



UNDERTONES 
By 

Madison Cawein 




LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



Chap. , Copyright No. 

Shelf__i2^_.__^ 

■ ZF7^ 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



OATEN STOP SERIES 
III 



v:: 



VNDERTONES 

BY MADISON CAWEIN 




BOSTON COPELAND AND DAY 
M D CCC XCVI 









-Us- 



COPYRIGHT 1896 BY COPELAND AND DAY 



INSCRIBED TO THE PATHETIC 

MEMORY OF THE POET 

HENRY TIMROD 



Long are the days, and three times long the nights. 

The nveary hours are a hea^y chain 

Upon the feet of all Earth's dear delights. 

Holding them enjer prisoners to pain. 

What shall beguile me to believe again 

In hope, that faith ivithin her parable ''writes 

Of life, care reads ivith eyes ivhose tear-drops 

stain F 
Shall such assist me to subdue the heights F 
Long is the night, and o<verlong the day. — 
The burden of all being ! — is it <zvorse 
Or better, lo ! that they nvho toil and pray 
May ivin not more than they ^who toil and curse F 
A little sleep, a little lo^e, ah me I 
And the slo^w ^weight up the souVs Calvary ! 



CONTENTS 

Page 

THE DREAMER I 

gUIET 2 

UNQUALIFIED 3 

UNENCOURAGED ASPIRATION ... 3 

THE WOOD 4 

WOOD NOTES 5 

SUCCESS 7 

SONG 7 

THE OLD SPRING 8 

HILLS OF THE WEST lO 

FLOWERS II 

SECOND SIGHT 12 

DEAD SEA FRUIT 1 3 

THE WOOD WITCH I4 

AT SUNSET 16 

MAY 17 

THE WIND OF SPRING 1 8 

INTERPRETED I 9 

THE WILLOW BOTTOM 20 

THE OLD BARN 22 

CLEARING 23 

REQUIEM 25 

AT LAST = c . . 26 

vii 



CONTENTS 

Page 

A DARK DAY 27 

FALL .28 

UNDERTONE 29 

CONCLUSION 30 

MONOCHROMES ^Z 

DAYS AND DAYS 34 

DROUTH IN AUTUMN 35 

MID-WINTER 36 

COLD 37 

IN WINTER 38 

ON THE FARM 39 

PATHS 41 

A SONG IN SEASON 43 

APART 44 

FAERY MORRIS 45 

THE world's DESIRE 46 

THE UNATTAINABLE 47 

REMEMBERED 5I 

THE SEA SPIRIT §2 

A DREAM SHAPE 53 

THE VAMPIRE 54 

WILL-O'-THE-WISP 56 

THE HEADLESS HORSEMAN .... 57 

THE WERE-WOLF 59 

THE TROGLODYTE 62 

THE CITY OF DARKNESS .... 63 

TRANSMUTATION . 6$ 

viii 



UNDERTONES 



THE DREAMER 

EVEN as a child he loved to thrid the 
bowers, 
And mark the loafing sunlight's lazy laugh j 
Or, on each season, spell the epitaph 
Of its dead months repeated in their flowers 5 
Or list the music of the strolling showers, 
Whose vagabond notes strummed through 

a twinkling staff"; 
Or read the day's delivered monograph 
Through all the chapters of its daedal 

hours. 
Still with the same child-faith and child- 
regard 
He looks on Nature, hearing, at her heart, 
The beautiful beat out the time and place, 
Whereby no lesson of this life is hard, 
No struggle vain of science or of art. 
That dies with failure written on its face. 



UNDERTONES 



QUIET 



A LOG-HUT in the solitude, 
A clapboard roof to rest beneath! 
This side, the shadow-haunted wood j 
That side, the sunlight-haunted heath. 

At daybreak Morn shall come to me 
In raiment of the white winds spunj 

Slim in her rosy hand the key 

That opes the gateway of the sun. 

Her smile shall help my heart enough 
With love to labor all the day. 

And cheer the road, whose rocks are rough, 
With her smooth footprints, each a ray. 

At dusk a voice shall call afar, 

A lone voice like the whippoorwill's; 

And, on her shimmering brow one star, 
Night shall descend the western hills. 

She at my door till dawn shall stand. 
With Gothic eyes, that, dark and deep, 

Are mirrors of a mystic land, 

Fantastic with the towns of sleep. 



UNENCOURAGED ASPIRATION 



UNQUALIFIED 

NOT his the part to win the goal, 
The flaming goal that flies before. 
Into whose course the apples roll 
Of self that stay his feet the more. 

Beyond himself he shall not win 
Whose flesh is as a driven dust, 

That his own soul must wander in. 
Seeing no farther than his lust. 

UNENCOURAGED ASPIRATION 

IS mine the part of no companion hand 
Of help, except my shadow's silent self? 
A moonlight traveller in Fancy's land 
Of leering gnome and hollow-laughing elfj 

Whose forests deepen and whose moon 

goes down. 
When Night's blind shadow shall usurp 

my own; 
And, mid the dust and wreck of some 

old town. 
The City of Dreams, I grope and fall alone. 

3 



UNDERTONES 



THE WOOD 



WITCH-HAZEL, dogwood, and the 
maple here; 
And there the oak and hickory; 
Linn, poplar, and the beech-tree, far and 
near 
As the eased eye can see. 

Wild-ginger; wahoo, with its wan balloons; 
And brakes of briers of a twilight green; 
And fox-grapes plumed with summer; and 
strung moons 
Of mandrake flowers between. 

Deep gold-green ferns, and mosses red and 
gray, — 
Mats for what naked myth's white feet ? — 
And, cool and calm, a cascade far away 
With even-falling beat. 

Old logs, made sweet with death; rough 
bits of bark; 
And tangled twig and knotted root; 
And sunshine splashes and great pools of 
dark; 
And many a wild-bird's flute. 
4 



WOOD NOTES 

Here let me sit until the Indian, Dusk, 

With copper-colored feet, comes down; 
Sowing the wildwood with star-fire and 
musk. 
And shadows blue and brown. 

Then side by side with some magician 
dream. 
To take the owlet-haunted lane. 
Half-roofed with vines; led by a firefly 
gleam. 
That brings me home again. 



WOOD NOTES 



THERE is a flute that follows me 
From tree to tree: 
A water flute a spirit sets 
To silver lips in waterfalls, 
And through the breath of violets 
A sparkling music calls : 

"Hither! halloo! Oh, follow! 
Down leafy hill and hollow. 
Where, through clear swirls, 
5 



UNDERTONES 

With feet like pearls, 
Wade up the blue-eyed country girls. 
Hither! halloo! Oh, follow!" 



II. 

There is a pipe that plays to me 

From tree to tree : 
A bramble pipe an elfin holds 
To golden lips in berry brakes. 
And, swinging o' er the elder wolds, 
A flickering music makes : 
** Come over! Come over 
The new-mown clover! 
Come over the new-mown hay! 
Where, there by the berries. 
With cheeks like cherries. 
And locks with which the warm wind 

merries, 
Brown girls are hilling the hay, 

All day! 
Come over the fields and away! 
Come over! Come over!" 



SONG 



SUCCESS 

HOW some succeed who have least need, 
In that they make no effort for! 
And pluck, where others pluck a weed. 
The burning blossom of a star. 
Grown from no earthly seed. 

For some shall reap that never sow; 
And some shall toil and not attain, — 
What boots it in ourselves to know 
Such labor here is not in vain. 
When we still see it so! 



SONG 

UNTO the portal of the House of Song, 
Symbols of wrong and emblems of 
unrest, 
And mottoes of despair and envious jest. 
And stony masks of scorn and hate belong. 

Who enters here shall feel his soul denied 
All welcome: lo! the chiselled form of Love, 
That stares in marble on the shrine above 
The tomb of Beauty, where he dreamed and 
died! 

7 



UNDERTONES 

"Who enters here shall know no poppyflowers 
Of Rest, or harp-tones of serene Contentj 
Only sad ghosts of music and of scent 
Shall mock the mind with their remembered 
powers. 

Here must he wait till striving patience carves 
His name upon the century-storied floorj 
His heart's blood staining one dim pane the 

more 
In Fame's high casement while he sings and 

starves. 



THE OLD SPRING 



UNDER rocks whereon the rose, 
Like a strip of morning, glowsj 
Where the azure-throated newt 
Drowses on the twisted root; 
And the brown bees, humming homeward, 
Stop to suck the honey-dew; 
Fern and leaf-hid, gleaming gloamward, 
Drips the wildwood spring I knew. 
Drips the spring my boyhood knew. 
8 



THE OLD SPRING 



II. 



Myrrh and music everywhere 
Haunt its cascades; — like the hair 
That a naiad tosses cool, 
Swimming strangely beautiful, 
With white fragrance for her bosom, 
For her mouth a breath of song; — 
Under leaf and branch and blossom 
Flows the woodland spring along, 
Sparkling, singing, flows along. 



Still the wet wan morns may touch 
Its gray rocks, perhaps; and such 
Slender stars as dusk may have 
Pierce the rose that roofs its wave; 
Still the thrush may call at noontide, 
And the whippoorwill at night; 
Nevermore, by sun or moontide. 
Shall I see it gliding white, 
Falling, flowing, wild and white. 



UNDERTONES 



HILLS OF THE WEST 



HILLS of the west, that gird 
Forest and farm. 
Home of the nestling bird, 

Housing from harm. 
When on your tops is heard 
Storm: 

Hills of the west, that bar 

Belts of the gloam. 
Under the twilight star, 

Where the mists roam. 
Take ye the wanderer 
Home. 



Hills of the west, that dream 

Under the moon. 
Making of wind and stream. 

Late-heard and soon. 
Parts of your lives that seem 
Tune. 



FLOWERS 

Hills of the west, that take 

Slumber to ye, 
Be it for sorrow's sake 

Or memory. 
Part of such slumber make 
Me. 

FLOWERS 

OH, why for us the blighted bloom! 
The blossom that lies withering! 
The Master of Life's changeless loom 
Hath wrought for us no changeless thing. 

Where grows the rose of fadeless Grace ? 
Wherethrough the Spirit manifests 
The fact of an Immortal race. 
The dream on which religion rests. 

Where buds the lily of our Faith ? 
That grows for us in unknown wise. 
Out of the barren dust of death. 
The pregnant bloom of Paradise. 

In Heaven ! so near that flowers know ! 
That flowers see how near! — and thus 
Reflect the knowledge here below 
Of love and life unknown to us. 



UNDERTONES 



SECOND SIGHT 

THEY lean their faces to me through 
Green windows of the woodsj 
Their white throats sweet with honey-dew 

Beneath low leafy hoods — 
No dream they dream but hath been true 
Here in the solitudes. 



Star trillium, in the underbrush, 
In whom Spring bares her face; 

Sun eglantine, that breathes the blush 
Of Summer's quiet grace; 

Moon mallow, in whom lives the hush 
Of Autumn's tragic pace. 

For one hath heard the dryad's sighs 

Behind the covering bark; 
And one hath felt the satyr's eyes 

Gleam in the bosky dark; 
And one hath seen the naiad rise 

In waters all a-spark. 



DEAD SEA FRUIT 

I bend my soul unto them, stilled 

In worship man hath lost; 
The old-world myths that science killed 

Are living things almost 
To me through these whose forms are filled 

With Beauty's pagan ghost. 

And through new eyes I seem to see 
The world these live within, - — 

A shuttered world of mystery. 
Where unreal forms begin 

The real of ideality 

That has no unreal kin. 



DEAD SEA FRUIT 

ALL things have power to hold us back. 
Our very hopes build up a wall 
Of doubt, whose shadow stretches black 
O'er all. 

The dreams, that helped us once, become 
Dread disappointments, that oppose 
Dead eyes to ours, and lips made dumb 
With woes. 

13 



UNDERTONES 

The thoughts that opened doors before 
Within the mind's house, hide away 5 
Discouragement hath locked each door 
For aye. 

Come, loss, more frequently than gain! 
And failure than success! until 
The spirit's struggle to attain 
Is still! 



THE WOOD WITCH 

THERE is a woodland witch who lies 
With bloom-bright limbs and beam- 
bright eyes. 
Among the water-flags, that rank 
The slow brook's heron-haunted bank: 
The dragon-flies, in brass and blue, 
Are signs she works her sorcery through; 
Weird, wizard characters she weaves 
Her spells by under forest leaves, — 
These wait her word, like imps, upon 
The gray flag-pods; their wings, of lawn 
And gauze; their bodies gleamy green. 
While o'er the wet sand, — left between 



THE WOOD WITCH 

The running water and the still, — 

In pansy hues and daffodil, 

The fancies that she meditates 

Take on most sumptuous shapes, with traits 

Like butterflies. 'Tis she you hear. 

Whose sleepy rune, hummed in the ear 

Of silence, bees and beetles purr. 

And the dry-droning locusts whirr; 

Till, where the wood is very lone. 

Vague monotone meets monotone. 

And slumber is begot and born, 

A faery child, beneath the thorn. 

There is no mortal who may scorn 

The witchery she spreads aroimd 

Her dim demesne, wherein is bound 

The beauty of abandoned time. 

As some sweet thought 'twixt rhyme and 

rhyme. 
And by her spell you shall behold 
The blue turn gray, the gray turn gold 
Of hollow heaven; and the brown 
Of twilight vistas twinkled down 
With fire-flies; and, in the gloom. 
Feel the cool vowels of perfume 
Slow-syllabled of weed and bloom. 
But, in the night, at languid rest, — 
When like a spirit's naked breast 

IS 



UNDERTONES 

The moon slips from a silver mist, — 
With star-bound brow, and star-wreathed 

wrist, 
If you should see her rise and wave 
You welcome, — ah! what thing shall save 
You then ? forevermore her slave ! 



AT SUNSET 

INTO the sunset's turquoise marge 
The moon dips, like a pearly barge 
Enchantment sails through magic seas, 
To fairyland Hesperides, 

Over the hills and away. 

Into the fields, in ghost-gray gown. 
The young-eyed Dusk comes slowly down} 
Her apron filled with stars she stands. 
And one or two slip from her hands 
Over the hills and away. 

Above the wood's black caldron bends 
The witch-faced Night and, muttering,blends 
The dew and heat, whose bubbles make 
The mist and musk that haunt the brake 
Over the hills and away. 
i6 



MAY 

Oh, come with me, and let us go 
Beyond the sunset lying low. 
Beyond the twilight and the night. 
Into Love's kingdom of long light. 
Over the hills and away. 



MAY 

THE golden disks of the rattlesnake-weed, 
That spangle the woods and dance — 
No gleam of gold that the twilights hold 

Is strong as their necromance : 
For, under the oaks where the wood-paths 

lead, 
The golden disks of the rattlesnake-weed 
Are the May's own utterance. 

The azure stars of the bluet bloom 

That sprinkle the woodland's trance — 

No blink of blue that a cloud lets through 
Is sweet as their countenance: 

For, over the knolls that the woods perfume. 

The azure stars of the bluet bloom 

Are the light of the May's own glance. 

17 



UNDERTONES 

With her wondering words and her looks 
she comes, 
In a sunbeam of a gown; 
She needs but think and the blossoms wink, 

But look, and they shower down. 
By orchard ways, where the wild-bee hums. 
With her wondering words and her looks 
she comes, 
Like a little maid to town. 



THE WIND OF SPRING 

THE wind that breathes of columbines 
And bleeding-hearts that crowd the 
rocks ; 
That shakes the balsam of the pines 
With music from his flashing locks, 
Stops at my city door and knocks. 

He calls me far a-forest; where 
The twin-leaf and the blood-root bloom j 
And, circled by the amber air. 
Life sits with beauty and perfume 
Weaving the new web of her loom. 
18 



INTERPRETED 

He calls me where the waters run 
Through fronding ferns where haunts the 

hem; 
And, sparkling in the equal sun, 
Song leans beside her brimming urn. 
And dreams the dreams that love shall learn. 

The wind has summoned, and I go, — 
To con God's meaning in each line 
The flowers write, and, walking slow, 
God's purpose, of which song is sign, — 
The wind's great, gusty hand in mine. 



INTERPRETED 

WHAT magic shall solve us the secret 
Of beauty that ' s born for an hour ? 
That gleams like the flight of an egret. 
Or burns like the scent of a flower, 
With death for a dower ? 

What leaps in the bosk but a satyr ? 

What pipes on the wind but a faun ? 
Or laughs in the waters that scatter. 
But limbs of a nymph who is gone, 
When we walk in the dawn ? 
19 



UNDERTONES 

What sings on the hills but a fairy ? 
Or sighs in the fields but a sprite ? 

What breathes through the leaves but the airy- 
Soft spirits of shadow and light. 
When we walk in the night ? 

Behold how the world-heart is eager 
To draw us and hold us and claim! 

Through truths of the dreams that beleaguer 
Her soul she makes ours the same. 
And death but a name. 



THE WILLOW BOTTOM 

LUSH green the grass that grows between 
The willows of the bottom-land j 
Verged by the careless water, tall and green, 
The brown-topped cat-tails stand. 

The cows come gently here to browse. 
Slow through the great-leafed sycamores ,• 
You hear a dog bark from a low-roofed house 
With cedars round its doors. 



THE WILLOW BOTTOM 

Then all is quiet as the wings 

Of the high buzzard floating there j 

Anon a woman's high-pitched voice that 

sings 
An old camp-meeting air. 

A flapping cock that crows ; and then — 
Heard drowsy through the rustling corn — 
A flutter, and the cackling of a hen 
Within a hay-sweet barn. 

How still again! no water stirs ; 
No wind is heard ; although the weeds 
Are waved a little j and from silk-filled burrs 
Drift by a few soft seeds. 

So drugged with sleep and dreams, that you 
Expect to see her gliding by, — 
Hummed round of bees, through blossoms 

spilling dew, — 
The Spirit of July. 



UNDERTONES 



THE OLD BARN 

LOW, swallow-swept and gray, 
Between the orchard and the spring, 
All its wide windows overflowing hay. 
And crannied doors a-swing. 
The old bam stands to-day. 

Deep in Its hay the Leghorn hides 

A round white nest ; and, humming soft 

On roof and rafter, or its log-rude sides. 

Black in the sun-shot loft. 

The building hornet glides. 

Along its com-crib, cautiously 
As thieving fingers, skulks the rat ; 
Or, in warped stalls of fragrant timothy. 
Gnaws at some loosened slat, 
Or passes shadowy. 

A dream of drouth made audible 
Before its door, hot, smooth, and shrill 
All day the locust sings. . . . What other 

spell 
Shall hold it, lazier still 
Than the long day's, now tell ? — 

22 



CLEARING 

Dusk and the cricket and the strain 

Of tree-toad and of frog ; and stars 

That burn above the rich west's ribbdd stain; 

And dropping pasture bars, 

And cow-bells up the lane. 

Night and the moon and katydid, 

And leaf-lisp of the wind-touched boughs; 

And mazy shadows that the fire-flies thrid ; 

And sweet breath of the cows j 

And the lone owl here hid. 

CLEARING 

BEFORE the wind, with rain-drowned 
stocks, 
The pleated crimson hollyhocks 

Are bending ; 
And, smouldering in the breaking brown, 
Above the hills that edge the town. 
The day is ending. 

The air is heavy with the damp 5 
And, one by one, each cottage lamp 

Is lighted ; 
Infrequent passers of the street 
Stroll on or stop to talk or greet. 

Benighted. 

23 



UNDERTONES 

I look beyond my city yard, 

And watch the white moon struggling hard, 

Cloud-buried 5 
The wind is driving toward the east, 
A wreck of pearl, all cracked and creased 

And serried. 

At times the moon, erupting, streaks 
Some long cloud ; like Andean peaks 

That double 
Horizon-vast volcano chains. 
The earthquake scars with lava veins 

That bubble. 

The wind that blows from out the hills 
Is like a woman's touch that stills 

A sorrow: 
The moon sits high with many a star 
In the deep calm : and fair and far 

Abides to-morrow. 



24 



REQUIEM 



NO more for him, where hills look down. 
Shall Morning crown 
Her rainy brow with blossom bands! — 

Whose rosy hands 
Drop wild flowers of the breaking skies 
Upon the sod 'neath which he lies. — 
No more! no more! 



No more for him where waters sleep. 

Shall Evening heap 
The long gold of the perfect days ! 

Whose pale hand lays 
Great poppies of the afterglow 
Upon the turf he rests below. — 

No more! no more! 

III. 

No more for him, where woodlands loom. 

Shall Midnight bloom 
The star-flow' red acres of the blue! 

Whose brown hands strew 
Dead leaves of darkness, hushed and deep. 
Upon the grave where he doth sleep. — 

No more! no more! 

as 



UNDERTONES 



IV. 



The hills that Morning's footsteps wake j 

The waves that take 
A brightness from the Eve j the woods 

O'er which Night broods, 
Their spirits have, whose parts are one 
With his whose mortal part is done. 

Whose part is done! 



AT LAST 

WHAT shall be said to him. 
Now he is dead ? 
Now that his eyes are dim, 

Low lies his head ? 
What shall be said to him. 
Now he is dead ? 

One word to whisper of 

Low in his ear j 
Sweet, but the one word ** love '' 

Haply he '11 hear. 
One word to whisper of 

Low in his ear. 
26 



A DARK DAY 

What shall be given him, 

Now he is dead ? 
Now that his eyes are dim, 

Low lies his head ? 
What shall be given him. 

Now he is dead ? 

Hope, that life long denied 

Here to his heart. 
Sweet, lay it now beside. 

Never to part. 
Hope, that life long denied 

Here to his heart. 



A DARK DAY 

THOUGH Summer walks the world to- 
day 
With corn-crowned hours for her guard. 
Her thoughts have clad themselves in gray. 
And wait in Autumn's weedy yard. 

And where the larkspur and the phlox 
Spread carpets wheresoever she pass. 

She seems to stand with sombre locks 

Bound bleak with fog-washed zinnias. — 

27 



UNDERTONES 

Fall's terra-cotta-colored flowers, 

Whose disks the trickling wet has tinged 

With dingy lustre when the bower's 

Thin, flame-flecked leaves the frost has 
singed j 

Or with slow feet, 'mid gaunt gold blooms 

Of marigolds her fingers twist, 
She seems to pass with Fall's perfumes, 

And dreams of sullen rain and mist. 



FALL 

SAD-HEARTED spirit of the solitudes, 
Who comest through the ruin-wedded 

woods ! 
Gray-gowned with fog, gold-girdled with 

the gloom 
Of tawny twilights ; burdened with perfume 
Of rain-wet uplands, chilly with the mist ; 
And all the beauty of the fire-kissed 
Cold forests crimsoning thy indolent way, 
Odorous of death and drowsy with decay. 



28 



UNDERTONE 

I think of thee as seated 'mid the showers 
Of languid leavesthat cover up the flowers, — 
The little flower-sisterhoods, whom June 
Once gave wild sweetness to, as to a tune 
A singer gives her souFs wild melody, — 
Watching the squirrel store his granary. 
Or, 'mid old orchards I have pictured thee : 
Thy hair's profusion blown about thy back j 
One lovely shoulder bathed with gipsy black; 
Upon thy palm one nestling cheek, and sweet 
The rosy russets tumbled at thy feet. 
Was it a voice lamenting for the flowers ? 
A heart-sick bird, that sang of happier hours? 
A cricket dirging days that soon must die ? 
Or did the ghost of Summer wander by ? 



UNDERTONE 

AH me! too soon the Autumn comes 
Among these purple-plaintive hills! 
Too soon among the forest gums 
Premonitory flame she spills, 
Bleak, melancholy flame that kills. 



29 



UNDERTONES 

Her white fogs veil the morn that rims 
With wet the moonflow"" r' s elfin moons 
And, like exhausted starlight, dims 
The last slim lily-disk 5 and swoons 
With scents of hazy afternoons. 

Her gray mists haunt the sunset skies, 
And build the west's cadaverous fire, 
Where Sorrow sits with lonely eyes. 
And hands that wake her ancient lyre, 
Beside the ghost of dead Desire. 



CONCLUSION 

THE songs Love sang to us are dead: 
Yet shall he sing to us again. 
When the dull days are wrapped in lead, 
And the red woodland drips with rain. 

The lily of our love is gone. 

That touched our spring with golden scent j 

Now in the garden low upon 

The wind-stripped way its stalk is bent. 



30 



CONCLUSION 

Our rose of dreams Is passed away, 
That lit our summer with sweet fire j 
The storm beats bare each thorny spray, 
And its dead leaves are trod in mire. 



The songs Love sang to us are dead j 
Yet shall he sing to us again, 
When the dull days are wrapped in lead. 
And the red woodland drips with rain. 

The marigold of memory 
Shall fill our autumn then with glow j 
Haply its bitterness will be 
Sweeter than love of long ago. 

The cypress of forgetfulness 

Shall haunt our winter with Its hue 5 

The apathy to us not less 

Dear than the dreams our summer knew. 



31 



UNDERTONES 



MONOCHROMES 

I. 

THE last rose falls, wrecked of the wind 
and rain ; 
Where once it bloomed the thorns alone 
remain: 
Dead in the wet the slow rain strews the 
rose. 
The day was dim; now eve comes on again, 
Grave as a life weighed down by many 
woes, — 
So is the joy dead, and alive the pain. 

The brown leaf flutters where the green leaf 

died; 
Bare are the boughs, and bleak the forest side : 
The wind is whirling with the last wild 
leaf. 
The eve was strange; now dusk comes weird 
and wide. 
Gaunt as a life that lives alone with grief,— 
So doth the hope go and despair abide. 
32 



MONOCHROMES 

An empty nest hangs where the wood-bird 

pled J 
Along the west the dusk dies, stormy red: 
The frost is subtle as a serpent's breath. 
The dusk was sad ; now night is overhead, 
Grim as a soul brought face to face with 
death — 
So life lives on when love, its life, lies dead. 



Go your own ways. Who shall persuade 
me now 
To seek with high face for a star of hope ? 
Or up endeavor's unsubmissive slope 
Advance a bosom of desire, and bow 
A back of patience in a thankless task ? 
Alone beside the grave of love I ask, 
Shalt thou ? or thou ? 



Leave go my hands. Fain would I walk 
alone 
The easy ways of silence and of sleep. 
What though I go with eyes that cannot 
weep, 

33 



UNDERTONES 

And lips contracted with no uttered moan, 
Through rocks and thorns, where every 

footprint bleeds, 
A dead-sea path of desert night that leads 
To one white stone! 

Though sands be black and bitter black the 

sea, 

Night lie before me and behind me night. 

And God within far Heaven refuse to light 

The consolation of the dawn for me, — 

Between the shadowy bournes of Heaven 

and Hell, 
It is enough love leaves my soul to dwell 
With memory. 



DAYS AND DAYS 

THE days that clothed white limbs with 
heat. 
And rocked the red rose on their breast. 
Have passed with amber-sandalled feet 
Into the ruby-gated west. 



34 



DROUTH IN AUTUMN 

These were the days that filled the heart 

With overflowing riches of 
Life; in whose soul no dream shall start 

But hath its origin in love. 

Now come the days gray-huddled in 
The haze ; whose foggy footsteps drip ; 

Who pin beneath a gipsy chin 
The frosty marigold and hip. — 

The days, whose forms fall shadowy 
Athwart the heart ; whose misty breath 

Shapes saddest sweets of memory 
Out of the bitterness of death. 



DROUTH IN AUTUMN 

GNARLED acorn-oaks against a west 
Of copper, cavernous with fire ; 
A wind of frost that gives no rest 

To such lean leaves as haunt the brier. 
And hide the cricket's vibrant wire. 



35 



UNDERTONES 

Sear, shivering shocks, and stubble blurred 
With bramble-blots of dull maroon ; 

And creekless hills whereon no herd 
Finds pasture, and whereo'er the loon 
Flies, haggard as the rainless moon. 



A 



MID-WINTER 

LL day the clouds hung ashen with the 



And through the snow the muffled waters 

fell; 
The day seemed drowned in grief too deep 

to tell. 
Like some old hermit whose last bead is told. 
At eve the wind woke, and the snow-clouds 

rolled 
Aside to leave the fierce sky visible ; 
Harsh as an iron landscape of wan hell 
The dark hills hung framed in with gloomy 

gold. 
And then, towards night, the wind seemed 

some one at 
My window wailing : now a little child 
Crying outside the door ; and now the long 
36 



COLD 

Howl of some starved beast down the flue. 

I sat 
And knew 'twas Winter with his madman 

song 
Of miseries, whereon he stared and smiled. 



COLD 

A MIST that froze beneath the moon 
and shook 
Minutest frosty fire in the air. 
All night the wind was still as lonely Care 
Who sighs before her shivering ingle-nook. 
The face of Winter wore a cruder look 
Than when he shakes the icicles from his 

hair, 
And, in the boisterous pauses, lets his stare 
Freeze through the forest, fettering bough 

and brook. 
He is the despot now who sits and dreams 
Of Desolation and Despair, and smiles 
At Poverty, who hath no place to rest. 
Who wanders o'er Life's snow-made path- 
less miles, 

37 



UNDERTONES 

And sees the Home-of-Comfort's window 

gleams, 
And hugs her rag-wrapped baby to her 

breast. 



IN WINTER 



WHEN black frosts pluck the acorns 
down. 
And in the lane the waters freeze ; 
And 'thwart red skies the wild-fowl flies. 
And death sits grimly 'mid the trees ; 
When home-lights glitter in the brown 

Of dusk like shaggy eyes, — 
Before the door his feet, sweetheart. 
And two white arms that greet, sweetheart. 
And two white arms that greet. 



When ways are drifted with the leaves, 
And winds make music in the thorns ; 

And lone and lost above the frost 

The new moon shows its silver horns ; 

38 



ON THE FARM 

When underneath the lamp-lit eaves 

The opened door is crossed, — 
A happy heart and light, sweetheart. 
And lips to kiss good-night, sweetheart, 
And lips to kiss good-night. 



ON THE FARM 



HE sang a song as he sowed the field, 
Sowed the field at break of day : 
" When the pursed-up leaves are as lips that 

yield 
Balm and balsam, and Spring, — concealed 
In the odorous green, — is so revealed, 

Halloo and oh ! 
Hallo for the woods and the far away! " 



He trilled a song as he mowed the mead. 

Mowed the mead as noon begun : 
*< When the hills are gold with the ripened 

seed, 
As the sunset stairs that loom and lead 

39 



UNDERTONES 

To the sky where Summer knows naught 
of need, 
Halloo and oh ! 
Hallo for the hills and the harvest sun ! " 



He hummed a song as he swung the flail, 

Swung the flail in the afternoon : 
" When the idle fields are a wrecker's tale. 
That the Autumn tells to the twilight pale, 
As the Year turns seaward a crimson sail. 

Halloo and oh ! 
Hallo for the fields and the hunter' s-moon ! '' 



He whistled a song as he shouldered his axe, 

Shouldered his axe in the evening storm : 

" When the snow of the road shows the 

rabbit's tracks, 
And the wind is a whip that the Winter 

cracks, 
With a herdsman' s cry, o'er the clouds' 
black backs, 
Halloo and oh! 
Hallo for home and a hearth to warm!" 
40 



PATHS 



WHAT words of mine can tell the spell 
Of garden ways I know so well ? — 
The path that takes me, in the spring. 
Past quinces where the blue-birds sing, 
Where peonies are blossoming, 
Unto a porch, wistaria-hung, 
Around whose steps May-lilies blow, 
A fair girl reaches down among. 
Her arm more white than their sweet snow. 



What words of mine can tell the spell 
Of garden ways I know so well ? — 
Another path that leads me, when 
The summer-time is here again. 
Past hollyhocks that shame the west 
When the red sun has sunk to rest j 
To roses bowering a nest, 
A lattice, ""neath which mignonette 
And deep geraniums surge and sough. 
Where, in the twilight, starless yet, 
A fair girl's eyes are stars enough. 



41 



UNDERTONES 



What words of mine can tell the spell 
Of garden ways I know so well ? — 
A path that takes me, when the days 
Of autumn wrap themselves in haze. 
Beneath the pippin-pelting tree, 
' Mid flitting butterfly and bee ; 
Unto a door where, fiery. 
The creeper climbs ; and, garnet-hued. 
The cock's-comb and the dahlia flare. 
And in the door, where shades intrude, 
Gleams out a fair girPs sunbeam hair. 



What words of mine can tell the spell 
Of garden ways I know so well ? — 
A path that brings me o'er the frost 
Of winter, when the moon is tossed 
In clouds ; beneath great cedars, weak 
With shaggy snow; past shrubs blown bleak 
With shivering leaves ; to eaves that leak 
The tattered ice, whereunder is 
A fire-flickering window-space j 
And in the light, with lips to kiss, 
A fair girl's welcome-giving face. 
42 



A SONG IN SEASON 



WHEN In the wind the vane turns round, 
And round, and round j 
And in his kennel whines the hound; 
When all the gable eaves are bound 
With icicles of ragged gray, 

A glinting gray ; 
There is little to do, and much to say. 
And you hug your fire and pass the day 
With a thought of the springtime, dearie. 



When late at night the owlet hoots. 

And hoots, and hoots ; 
And wild winds make of keyholes flutes j 
When to the door the goodman's boots 
Stamp through the snow the light stains red. 

The fire-light's red ; 
There Is nothing to do, and all is said. 
And you quaff your cider and go to bed 
With a dream of the summer, dearie. 

III. 

When, nearing dawn, the black cock crows. 

And crows, and crows ; 
And from the barn the milch-cow lows j 

43 



UNDERTONES 

And the milkmaid's cheeks have each a rose, 
And the still skies show a star or two, 

Or one or two j 
There is little to say, and much to do. 
And the heartier done the happier you. 
With a song of the winter, dearie. 



APART 



WHILE sunset burns and stars are few. 
And roses scent the fading light. 
And like a slim urn, dripping dew, 
A spirit carries through the night. 

The pearl-pale moon hangs new, — 
I think of you, of you. 



While waters flow, and soft winds woo 
The golden-hearted bud with sighs j 
And, like a flower an angel threw. 
Out of the momentary skies 

A star falls burning blue, — 
I dream of you, of you. 

44 



FAERY MORRIS 



While love believes, and hearts are true. 
So let me think, so let me dream ; 
The thought and dream so wedded to 
Your face, that, far apart, I seem 
To see each thing you do. 

And be with you, with you. 



FAERY MORRIS 



THE winds are whist ; and, hid in mist, 
The moon hangs o'er the wooded 
height ; 
The bushy bee, with unkempt head. 
Hath made the sunflower's disk his bed. 
And sleeps half-hid from sight. 
The owlet makes us melody — 
Come dance with us in Faery, 
Come dance with us to-night. 



The dew is damp ; the glow-worm's lamp 
Blurs in the moss its tawny light ; 
The great gray moth sinks, half-asleep, 

45 



UNDERTONES 

Where, in an elfin-laundered heap, 
The lily-gowns hang white. 
The crickets make us minstrelsy — 
Come dance with us in Faery, 
Come dance with us to night. 

III. 

With scents of heat, dew-chilled and sweet, 
The new-cut hay smells by the bight j 
The ghost of some dead pansy bloom, 
The butterfly dreams in the gloom. 
Its pied wings folded tight. 
The world is lost in fantasy, — 
Come dance with us in Faery, 
Come dance with us to-night. 



T 



THE WORLD'S DESIRE 

HE roses of voluptuousness 
Wreathe her dark locks and hide her 
eyes ; 
Her limbs are flower-like nakedness. 
Wherethrough the fragrant blood doth press, 
The blossom-blood of Paradise. 

46 



THE UNATTAINABLE 

She stands with Lilith finger tips, 
ather 
and sips 

With Lilith-laughter-lightened lips 
The soul as from a crystal cup. 

What though she cast the cup away ! 
The empty bowl that flashed with wine ! 
Her curled lips' kiss, that stained the clay. 
Her fingers' touch — shall not these stay. 
That made its nothingness divine ? 

Through one again shall live the glow. 
Immortalizing, of her touch ; 
And through the other, sweet to know 
How life swept flame once 'neath the snow 
Of her mooned breasts, — and this is much ! 

THE UNATTAINABLE 

MARK thou ! a shadow crowned with 
fire of hell. 
Man holds her in his heart as night doth hold 
The moonlight memories of day' s dead gold j 
Or as a winter-withered asphodel 
In its dead loveliness holds scents of old. 
And looking on her, lo, he thinks 't is well. 

47 



UNDERTONES 

Who would not follow her whose glory 
sits, 
Imperishably lovely on the air ? 
Who, from the arms of Earth's desire, 
flits 
With eyes defiant and rebellious hair ? — 
Hers is the beauty that no man shall share. 

He who hath seen, what shall it profit him ? 
He who doth love, what shall his passion 
gain ? 
When disappointment at her cup's bright 
brim 
Poisons the pleasure with the hemlock 
pain ? 
Hers is the passion that no man shall drain. 

How long, how long since Life hath touched 

her eyes. 
Making their night clairvoyant ! And how 

long 
Since Love hath kissed her lips and made 

them wise. 
Binding her brow with prophecy and song ! 
Hope clad her nakedness in lovely lies. 
Giving into her hands the right of wrong ! 

48 



THE UNATTAINABLE 

Lo ! in her world she sets pale tents of 
thought, 
Unearthly bannered ; and her dreams' 
wild bands 
Besiege the heavens like a twilight fraught 
With recollections of lost stars. She 
stands 
Radiant as Lilith given from God's hands. 

The golden rose of patience at her throat 

Drops fragrant petals — as a pensive tune 
Drops its surrendered sweetness note by- 
note ; — 
And from her hands the buds of hope are 
strewn, 
Moon-flowers, mothered of the barren moon. 

So in her flowers man seats him at her 

feet 
In star-faced worship, knowing all of this ; 
And now to him to die seems very sweet. 
Fed with the fire of her look and kiss ; 
While in his heart the blood's tumultuous 

beat 
Drowns, in her own, the drowsing serpent's 

hiss. 

49 



UNDERTONES 

He who hath dreamed but of her world shall 
give 

All of his soul unto her restlessly: 
He who hath seen but her far face shall live 

No more for things we name reality: 
Such is the power of her tyranny. 

He, whom she wins, hath nothing 'neath the 
sun; 
Forgetting all that she may not forget 
He loves her, who still feeds his soul upon 
Dreams and desires, and doubt and vain 
regret, — 
Life's bitter bread his heart's fierce tears 
make wet. 

What word of wisdom hast thou. Life, to 

wake 
Him now ! or song of magic now to dull 
The dreams he lives in! or what charm to 

break 
The spell that makes her evil beautiful! 
What charm to show her beauty hides a 

snake. 
Whose basilisk eyes burn dark behind a skull. 



SO 



REMEMBERED 

HERE in the dusk I see her face again 
As then I knew it, ere she fell asleep; 
Renunciation glorifying pain 

Of her soul's inmost deep. 

I shall not see its like again! the brow 
Of passive marble, purely aureoled, — 
As some pale lily in the afterglow, — 
With supernatural gold. 

As if a rose should speak and, somehow 

heard 
By some strange sense, the unembodied 

sound 
Grow visible, her mouth was as a word 

A sweet thought falters 'round. 

So do I still remember eyes imbued 
With far reflections — as the stars suggest 
The silence, purity and solitude 

Of infinite peace and rest. 

She was my all. I loved her as men love 
A high desire, religion, an ideal — 
The meaning purpose in the loss whereof 
God shall alone reveal. 

51 



UNDERTONES 



THE SEA SPIRIT 

AH me ! I shall not waken soon 
From dreams of such divinity ! 
A spirit singing in the moon 
To me. 

White sea-spray driven of the storm 
Were not so wildly white as she! 
She beckoned with a foam-white arm 
To me. 

With eyes dark green, and golden-green 
Loose locks that sparkled drippingly. 
Out of the green wave she did lean 
To me. 

And sang ; till Earth and Heaven were 
A far, forgotten memory ; 
For more than Heaven seemed hid in her 
To me: — 

Sleep, sweeter than love' s face or home j 
Love, more than immortality; 
And music of the dreamy foam 
For me. 
5a 



A DREAM SHAPE 

Pass over her with all thy ships 
With all thy stormy tides, O sea! 
The memory of immortal lips 
For me! 



A DREAM SHAPE 

WITH moon-white hearts that held a 
gleam, 
I gathered wild flowers in a dream. 
And shaped a woman, whose sweet blood 
Was odor of the wildwood bud. 

From dew, the starlight arrowed through, 
I wrought a woman's eyes of blue j 
The lids, that on her eyeballs lay. 
Were rose-pale petals of the May. 

I took the music of the breeze. 
And water whispering in the trees, 
And shaped the soul that breathed below 
A woman's blossom breasts of snow. 

Out of a rose-bud's veins I drew 
The fragrant crimson beating through 
The languid lips of her, whose kiss 
Was as a poppy's drowsiness. 

53 



UNDERTONES 

Out of the moonlight and the air 
I wrought the glory of her hair, 
That o'er her eyes' blue heaven lay 
Like some gold cloud o' er dawn of day. 

A shadow's shadow in the glass 
Of sleep, my spirit saw her pass : 
And, thinking of it now, meseems 
We only live within our dreams. 

For in that time she was to me 

More real than our reality; 

More real than Earth, more real than I - 

The unreal things that pass and die. 



THE VAMPIRE 

A LILY in a twilight place ? 
A moonflow'r in the lonely night ? 
Strange beauty of a woman' s face 
Of wildflow'r-white ! 

The rain that hangs a star's green ray 
Slim on a leaf-point's restlessness, 
Is not so glimmering green and gray 
As was her dress. 
54 



THE VAMPIRE 

I drew her dark hair from her eyes, 
And in their deeps beheld a while 
Such shadowy moonlight as the skies 
Of Hell may smile. 

She held her mouth up redly wan, 
And burning cold, — I bent and kissed 
Such rosy snow as some wild dawn 
Makes of a mist. 

God shall not take from me that hour, 
When round my neck her white arms 

clung ! 
When 'neath my lips, like some fierce 
flower. 
Her white throat swung! 

Or words she murmured while she leaned! 
Witch-words, she holds me softly by, — 
The spell that binds me to a fiend 
Until I die. 



55 



UNDERTONES 



WILL-O'-THE-WISP 

I. 

THERE in the calamus he stands 
With frog-webbed feet and bat-winged 
hands; 
His glow-worm garb glints goblin-wise j 

And elfishly, and elfishly. 
Above the gleam of owlet eyes, 
A death' s-moth cap of downy dyes 
Nods out at me, nods out at me. 

II. 

Now in the reeds his face looks white 
As witch-down on a witches' night; 
Now through the dark old haunted mill, 

So eerily, so eerily, 
He flits; and with a whippoorwill 
Mouth calls, and seems to syllable, 

" Come follow me! come follow me ! " 



Now o'er the sluggish stream he wends, 
A slim light at his finger-ends; 
56 



THE HEADLESS HORSEMAN 

The spotted spawn, the toad hath clomb, 

Slips oozily, slips oozily ; 
His easy footsteps seem to come — 
Like bubble-gaspings of the scum — 

Now near to me, now near to me. 



There by the stagnant pool he stands, 
A fox-fire lamp in flickering hands; 
The weeds are slimy to the tread, 

And mockingly, and mockingly, 
With slanted eyes and eldritch head 
He leans above a face long dead, — 

The face of me! the face of me! 



THE HEADLESS HORSEMAN 

ON the black road through the wood 
As I rode. 
There the Headless Horseman stood j 
By the wild pool in the wood. 
As I rode. 



57 



UNDERTONES 

From the shadow of an oak, 

As I rode, 
Demon steed and rider broke} 
By the thunder-shattered oak, 

As I rode. 



On the waste road through the plain. 

As I rode, 
At my back he whirled like rain} 
On the tempest-blackened plain. 

As I rode. 



Four fierce hoofs shod red with fire. 

As I rode, 
Woke the wild rocks, dark and dire j 
Eyes and nostrils streamed with fire, 

As I rode. 



On the deep road through the rocks, 

As I rode, 
I could reach his horse's locks} 
Through the echo-hurling rocks. 

As I rode. 



58 



THE WERE-WOLF 

And again I looked behind. 

As I rode, — 
Dark as night and swift as wind. 
Towering, he rode behind. 

As I rode. 

On the steep road down the dell. 

As I rode, 
In the night I heard a bell. 
In the village in the dell. 

As I rode. 

And my soul called out in prayer. 

As I rode, — 
Lo! the demon went in air. 
Leaving me alone in prayer. 

As I rode. 



THE WERE-WOLF 

She. 

NAY; still amort, my love ? Why dost 
thou lag ? 

He. 

The strix-owl cried. 

59 



UNDERTONES 

She. 

Nay! yon wild 

stream that leaps 
Hoarse from the black pines of the Hakel 

steeps, 
A moon-tipped water, down a glittering 

crag. — 
Why so aghast, sweetheart ? Why dost 

thou stop ? 

He. 

The demon-huntsman passed with hooting 
horn! 

She. 

Nay ! 't was the blind wind sweeping through 

the thorn 
Around the ruins of the Dumburg's top. 

He. 

My limbs are cold. 

She. 

Come! warm thee in 
mine arms. 
60 



THE WERE-WOLF 

He. 

Mine eyes are weary. 

She. 

Rest them, love, on 
mine. 

He. 

I am athirst. 

She. 

Quench on my lips thy thirst 

O dear belovdd, how thy last kiss warms 
My blood again ! 

He. 

Off! . . . How thy eye- 
balls shine! 
Thy face! ... thy form! . . . So do I 
die accursed ! 



6i 



UNDERTONES 



THE TROGLODYTE 

IN ages dead, a troglodyte, 
At the hollow roots of a monster 

height, — 
That grew from the heart of the world to 

light, — 
I dwelt in caverns : over me 
Were mountains older than the moon; 
And forests vaster than the sea, 
And gulfs, that the earthquake's hand had 

hewn. 
Hung under me. And late and soon 
I heard the daemon of change that sighed 
A cosmic language of mystery; 
While life sat silent, primeval-eyed. 
With the infant spirit of prophecy. 

Gaunt stars glared down on the Titan peaks; 
And the gaunter glare of the cratered streaks 
Of the sunset's ruin heard condor shrieks. 
The roar of cataracts hurled in air. 
And the hurricane laying his thunders bare, 
And rush of battling beasts, — whose lair 

62 



THE CITY OF DARKNESS 

Was the antechamber of nadir-gloom, — 
Were my outworld joys. But who shall tell 
The awe of the depths that heard the boom 
Of the iron rivers that fashioned Hell! 



THE CITY OF DARKNESS 

W IDE-walled it stands in heathen lands 
Beside a mystic sea, 
With streets strange-trod of many a god, 
And templed blasphemy. 

Far in the night, a rose of light 
It shines beside the sea; 
But overhead an unknown dread 
Impends eternally. 

There is a sound above, around 
Of music by the sea ; 
And weird and wide the torches glide 
Of pagan revelry. 

There is a noise as of a voice 

That calls beneath the sea ; 

And all the deep grows pale with sleep 

And vague expectancy. 

63 



UNDERTONES 

Then slowly up — as from a cup 
Seethes poison — lifts the sea; 
Wild mass on mass, as in black glass, 
The town glows fiery. 

Red-lit it glowers like Hell's dark towers 
Set in the iron sea; 

And monster swarms with awful forms 
Roll though it cloudily. 

Still overhead the unknown dread. 
Whose shadow dyes the sea, 
At wrath-winged wait behind its gate 
Till God shall set it free. 

A taloned flash, an earthquake crash. 
And, lo! upon the sea. 
Black wall on wall, a giant pall. 
Night settles hideously. 

And where it burned, a rose inurned. 
Red in the vasty sea. 
The phantasm of the dread above 
Sits in immensity. 



64 



TRANSMUTATION 

TO me all beauty that I see 
Is melody made visible: 
An earth -translated state, may be, 
Of music heard in Heaven or Hell. 

Out of some love-impassioned strain 
Of saints, the rose evolved its bloom 5 
And, dreaming of it here again, 
Perhaps re-lives it as perfume. 

Out of some chant that demons sing 
Of hate and pain, the sunset grew; 
And, haply, still remembering, 
Re-lives it here as some wild hue. 



THE END 



65 



FIVE HUNDRED AND FIFTY COPIES OF 
THIS BOOK (thirty-five COPIES OF 
WHICH ARE ON HANDMADE PAPER) 
WERE PRINTED DURING MARCH BY 
JOHN WILSON AND SON CAMBRIDGE 



